


Dean Winchester's Dildo Armada

by the_rogue_bitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Anal Play, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Sex Toys, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-18
Updated: 2008-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rogue_bitch/pseuds/the_rogue_bitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s domestic chores are not for the faint of heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester's Dildo Armada

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azephirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Waiting for September](https://archiveofourown.org/works/65276) by [azephirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin). 



> Written for azephirin to cheer her up. Set in her Charleston'verse.

Dean padded around the kitchen, barefoot, his beltless jeans settled low on his hips. He wore a green plaid flannel shirt that was so old it was ripping along one seam, but was soft as chamois against his skin. A day off plus routine tasks made for one happy Winchester. He checked to make sure the water was still at a nice rolling boil, and then he picked up one of the dildoes in his tongs and dropped it in. “You don’t have to go oh-oh-oh-OH-oh,” he sang under his breath along with the stereo as he dropped another into the water and stirred them around. 

It was Tuesday, and that meant it was toy-cleaning day. 

There was already a row of them drying on a towel on the counter, ranging from “oh-my-god-that-goes-WHERE?” and moving on down to a somewhat less novelty size. The big ones were Chris’s, and had been left at Dean’s place, but that didn’t change the fact that they needed cleaning and today was the day for it. 

Deeming the next batch boiled enough, Dean plucked a dildo out with the tongs, and then Robert Plant hit a crescendo and Dean along with it. “I love you, baby I love you!” Dean sang loudly to the ceiling, leaning back into it with his eyes closed, dripping dildo clutched in the kitchen tongs. 

He snapped his head around at a sound in the doorway.

Chris stood there, key in one hand, canvas shopping bag in the other, and bike helmet under his arm, eyes and mouth a perfectly round “O”. His stare tracked from the row of dildoes to Dean, sudden heat flaring in his gaze. 

Next thing Dean knew, he was spun roughly around by his beltloops and jammed up against the counter, a hard kiss crushing his lips. A hot, long-fingered hand slid up under Dean’s shirt, palm rubbing against his nipple. Dean opened his mouth to Chris and spread his legs. His suddenly-hard dick rubbed against Chris’s, parallel lines meeting in friction. Chris scrabbled at the button and zipper of Dean’s fly, sliding his hand inside the waistband, gripping Dean firmly.

Dean dropped the tongs and the dildo bounced off the counter and onto the floor. Dean pulled his mouth off Chris’s and said, “You are so cleaning that again.” 

“I’ll be cleaning this one again, too,” Chris replied, rummaging around behind Dean. He shoved Dean’s pants and briefs down, and knelt in front of him, taking Dean’s hard length into his mouth. Dean’s fingers clenched at the edge of the counter. 

Chris was every mother’s dream of the doctor their daughters should marry, all tall and blond and blue eyed and athletic, and annoyingly slightly taller than Dean. Here he was willingly between Dean’s legs, sucking him off skillfully and enthusiastically, and slathering the --

“Is that the Stinger?” Dean gasped. 

Chris tilted his head to look at Dean and winked. He finished lubing up (and _where_ the lube had come from, Dean wondered, but only for a second) the curved and ridged yellow-and-black-swirled dildo with one hand. 

“Chris, I don’t think that’ll fi-Jesus fuck!” Dean swore as Chris slid one, then two, slippery cold fingers into Dean’s ass, crooking his fingers and opening Dean wide, never stopping the slow and steady rhythm of his mouth on Dean’s dick. 

Guy was talented, Dean gave him that much, and then couldn’t think anymore as the blunt tip of the Stinger replaced Chris’s fingers, sliding inexorably in him, ridges bumping over his prostate, stretching and burning and curling heat through him. Dean’s building orgasm was a closed circuit between Chris’s mouth on his dick and the slick-scraping feeling of the Stinger filling him up, until it arced through him in an obliterating lighting blast. Dean threw his head back, moaning out loud, shaking and thrusting so hard that the rest of the dildoes were shaken off the counter. They fell with rubbery thumps around and on Chris’s head, bouncing on the floor. 

Chris let Dean slip out of his mouth as Dean sank slowly down onto his knees. The Stinger was gently pulled out, sending aftershocks along Dean’s nerve endings. Dean looked at the man kneeling between his legs. Chris’s prep-school blond hair was mussed, his Armani tie was askew, his neatly pressed Oxford shirt rumpled, and his trousers creased. His lips were ruddy and glistening, and Dean wanted to taste himself on them, so he leaned up for a kiss. Chris’s lips were hot and his tongue was tangy with Dean’s come. Dean slid his own hand into the front of those respectable trousers and stroked down Chris’s dick, thumb slicking through the slit, as Chris shuddered against him. 

“Who knew that just the sight of those toys would turn you on so much?” Dean murmured against Chris’s lips, squeezing and stroking him. Chris panted, breath coming harshly against Dean’s cheek as he thrust into Dean’s hand.

“It was just the possibilities represented by seeing them all lined up,” Chris gasped. “And you just looked so hot, singing, barefoot, totally unaware that I was there.” 

“Yeah, I’m sexy when I’m doing housework, it’s true,” Dean snickered, moving his hand faster up and down Chris’s dick, loving the feel of him moving restlessly into his touch. 

“You…have no…idea…” Chris breathed. “Ohgod, Dean,” he screwed up his eyes and hunched over Dean, biting his lip. He leaned his head against the cabinet and groaned, coming all over Dean’s hand. Dean laughed softly.

“I like gettin’ you all messed up, mister trauma surgeon.” Dean tugged on Chris’s tie with one hand, gently holding Chris’s softening dick in his other. 

“That’s _doctor_ trauma surgeon.” Chris responded, kneeling upright again. He took Dean’s wrist and pulled Dean’s hand out of his pants. “Hm, kind of a mess, here,” he said, licking his come off Dean’s hand. 

“You’re a perv,” Dean remarked breathlessly. 

“Takes one to know one. How about this dildo armada you’ve got going on here?” 

“Says the size queen who owns the largest ones in the collection.” Dean retorted. Chris gently bit Dean’s knuckle. Dean inhaled sharply. 

“That’s what, two out of twelve?” Chris responded. 

“That you have _here_. Speaking of which…” Dean reached over and grabbed a couple of dildoes off the floor. “Help me pick these up. I have to boil them all over again. Thanks to _you_.” 

“You pick them up, I’ll set up dinner.” Chris bargained. 

“You brought dinner?” Dean grinned, and saw the canvas bag that held the takeout dropped in the doorway. Then the bike helmet. “Dude, you picked up takeout on your _bike_? You are the biggest dork that ever lived.” 

“Complain while you’re cleaning.” Chris replied, getting up and retrieving the bag. He busied himself with setting out the food as he watched Dean.

Dean picked up the dildoes, gathering them in his arm like some sort of x-rated bouquet. He started whistling along with Led Zep on the stereo as he lined them up on the counter again, tallest to smallest, checking on the water and dropping two into the pot with the tongs.


End file.
